Leave-taking
by iolanthe1
Summary: The second-biggest decision of Father Mulcahy's life.


Obligatory disclaimer: This story is based on characters that I do not own, and I am making no money from it. So there's really no need to get anyone's lawyers in a lather.

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Leave-taking

by iolanthe iolanthe@cais.com

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Philadelphia, late summer 1950

The stark contrast between the hushed, contemplative atmosphere of the convent and his own inner turmoil was not lost on Father Francis Mulcahy as he followed his escort, a novice nun whose name he hadn't caught, through the familiar maze of hallways. Though his emotional state that day tilted primarily toward excitement and anticipation, anxiety was also contributing to the flock of butterflies in his stomach. 

When they reached the convent's central courtyard, a grassy atrium open to the sky, Mulcahy's young escort politely took her leave and retreated back into the warren of corridors, leaving him alone with the woman he had come to see.

As expected, he found her kneeling in the dirt, trowel in hand, weeding around a row of purple irises. "Kathy?" he called brightly, a smile spreading across his face as he walked to her side. It was always good to see his sister, no matter how difficult the circumstances.

At the sound of her given name, Katherine Mulcahy, now more commonly known as Sister Maria Angelica, glanced up from her work and, with a smile to match her brother's, jumped to her feet. "Francis!" She dropped the trowel and roughly brushed the soil from her hands and knees before embracing him. "This is an unexpected pleasure. Not that I'm not glad to see you, but I do hope nothing's wrong?"

Mulcahy held her at arm's length for a moment. The more time that passed between visits, the more mental readjustment he seemed to require to accept that Kathy was all grown up. No longer the slightly bratty little girl who was once his tormentor and his occasional partner in crime, she was now a talented and accomplished woman. Not to mention one of the finest nuns in the business, in his admittedly biased opinion.

"No, no, there's nothing wrong." He hesitated, abashed by the dead-giveaway tremor in his voice, and then amended, "At least, I hope you won't think that."

"Ah, I see." She was regarding him curiously. "Maybe we should be sitting down for this," she concluded, steering him toward a nearby bench. 

As they got settled on the wooden bench, Mulcahy took a minute to admire the view -- and also stall for time. "The garden looks beautiful this year. You've done a wonderful job."

"Thank you," she said, pleased, "but I can't take all the credit. I'm just one of several sisters who tend it."

"You always did have the green thumb in our family. I consider myself lucky if I can keep dandelions alive." 

Katherine locked eyes with him, flashed an impish grin. Obviously she had recognized his delaying tactics for what they were and planned to seize the opportunity for a bit of sisterly teasing. "Francis, please -- what is it that you're trying not to tell me? You're converting to Islam? You're off to Nepal to scale Mount Everest? You've met the right woman and you're finally giving up on this crazy priest thing?"

Mulcahy couldn't help but laugh, and, as she had no doubt intended, his nervous tension eased somewhat. "None of the above, but it's almost as adventurous."

"Good heavens, man, out with it already!"

A deep breath helped to steady his nerves as well as his voice for the moment of confession. "I've decided to volunteer for the Army Chaplain Corps."

She sat silent for a time, leaving him to speculate as to whether news of an impending marriage might have been less shocking. "The army," she finally ventured. "You want to go...to Korea?"

"With the military buildup, there's a desperate need right now. Particularly for Catholic chaplains."

Katherine leaned back against the bench and gazed up at the cloudless afternoon sky. "I suppose you've already been accepted -- filled out the forms, jumped through all the proper hoops. You wouldn't be here if this was only hypothetical."

Long familiar with his sister's perceptiveness, Mulcahy was unsurprised by the speed with which she whacked that nail on the head. Kathy understood him all too well; his fear that she would try to talk him out of volunteering was the main reason he had avoided visiting the convent for the past couple of months. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "I leave for Chaplain School tomorrow, and I expect I'll receive an overseas assignment directly after that."

"Tomorrow," she echoed, still contemplating the heavens. "No sense waiting 'til the last minute, I suppose."

Mulcahy flinched, his self-imposed guilt amplifying the mild sting of her sarcasm. "I know I shouldn't have kept this from you, Kathy, but I was afraid you might...disapprove."

Katherine's back straightened as she turned to face him. To his dismay, he could see the glint of unshed tears at the corners of her eyes. "Disapprove? No, I don't think that's the right word. I certainly don't disapprove of the _concept_ of military chaplaincy. But...." She trailed off with a helpless shrug.

"But?"

"It hardly needs spelling out, but if you insist: Whatever they want to label it, that's a _war_ going on over there, and men are dying. _You_ could die." She looked away briefly, taking a surreptitious swipe at her eyes with the back of one hand. "Noncombatant status is all well and good, but a Roman collar doesn't make you bulletproof."

In the face of her distress, Mulcahy was finding it difficult to recall the carefully phrased justifications he had rehearsed in preparation for this meeting. "You're right," he conceded. "It would be safer -- and perhaps wiser -- to stay put and do what I can here on the home front. But I have to do more than that, can you understand? I need to _be_ there. It's difficult to put into words, but in my heart I feel this calling just as strongly as I felt called to the priesthood." He sighed, frustrated by his lack of eloquence on a subject so deeply personal. "I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this very well...."

"Quite the contrary," Katherine said softly, the faintest of smiles curving her lips. "I understand exactly how you feel. I do. And I know you'll be the finest, most dedicated chaplain the army could ever hope for. It's just that the thought of losing my little brother, in a country half a world away, scares the hell out of me."

Though her empathy with his position was soothing, the raw emotion behind her last words landed like a punch to his solar plexus, driving home the magnitude of the step he was taking. It was the right step, Mulcahy believed with all his heart, but he also realized that, whether he lived through the experience or not, it would forever alter his safe little parish-priest life. "If it's any comfort," he confided, "it scares me, too."

Katherine fixed him with an intense gaze, studying his face as if committing it to memory. Which, it struck him, she probably was. Too soon, however, they were distracted by the approach of the nameless novice, who was maintaining a respectful distance while silently angling for Katherine's attention.

"Duty calls, I'm afraid," sighed Katherine as she got up from the bench. "Sister Mary Margaret will see you out."

Mulcahy rose with her, his throat uncomfortably tight. This was it, then -- the last time he would be in her presence for the foreseeable future. "I'll write as often as I can," he promised, struggling to keep his voice steady. "And you know you're always in my prayers."

"As you are in mine." With a muted half-sob, Katherine caught him up in a fierce embrace, arms locked around his neck as if she never wanted to let go; he held her just as tightly. "Take good care of yourself, Francis. May God be with you."

She was halfway across the courtyard, walking purposefully and without a backward glance, by the time Mulcahy managed to whisper, "And also with you...."

END


End file.
